


watching

by themetgayla



Series: merthur fics [3]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Anorexia Nervosa, Bulimia, Eating Disorder, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-06-24 15:52:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19726846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themetgayla/pseuds/themetgayla
Summary: Arthur has watched Merlin for months, watching as he fades away into skin stretched loosely over his bones. He finally decides to do something about it. He has to, right? No one else will.





	watching

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first merthur fic, so be gentle! but this popped into my head bc merlin is literally so skinny and thus this was borne.
> 
> **tw for eating disorder**

Arthur notices Merlin is skinny right from the start, right from their first fight, right from the boy’s first day in Camelot. It’s easy to put it down to the lack of food in the outlying villages; it’s no secret that the Kingdom of Essetir is struggling.

But after a month in Camelot, and what Arthur presumes must be a decent amount of food, Merlin doesn’t seem to be gaining any weight. No one says anything, because why would they? He’s a serving boy, a flash of red and brown amongst a flurry of beige linen and stone walls, almost a ghost floating through the palace. No one asks about the servants, it’s not right to.

But Arthur has never been one for following his father’s ridiculous rules, and so he finds himself desperate to ask Merlin how he is, despite the fact he isn’t supposed to.

He doesn’t, though.

He’s not sure why, but every time he lays eyes on Merlin’s skinny frame and shaking hands, the words get stuck in his throat and he can’t bring himself to ask.

It just doesn’t feel right. Him and Merlin have an effortless dynamic, bouncing off each other with ease, as though they’ve been friends for a lifetime. Despite Arthur’s constant jokes that Merlin is useless and incompetent, he considers the boy as his equal, and yearns for a mutual friendship he simply cannot have.

They don’t ask each other how they are, though. Well, Merlin asks him how he is, tone sincere and deeply genuine, but Arthur can never seem to return the question. His tongue feels too big for his mouth and he always finds himself gasping for air.

As the months pass, Arthur can’t help but notice Merlin shrinking in size, collarbones like blades poking out of his shirt, clothes suddenly two sizes too big, hanging off him like a skeleton.

And  _ gods _ , he wants to ask, but he can’t.

Arthur watches, biting his tongue, as Merlin fades away, legs trembling, body fragile and barely there. He finds himself cutting Merlin way more slack than he should, finding other servants to carry out most of his chores just to give the boy some relief. Merlin questions it, of course he does, but Arthur makes up some lie about spreading the workload and things getting done quicker, and Merlin doesn’t ask again.

Arthur watches and watches in silence until one day, he can’t take it any longer. Merlin can barely speak, hair thin and brittle, plagued with fatigue, constantly shivering. Arthur finally breaks, and—

“Would you like some food?”

Merlin stands there for a moment, clearly in shock, trying to comprehend the question just posed to him. Arthur has never asked anything of the sort before, and yet here he is, offering his food.

“Sire, I- Uh, I couldn’t take your food,” Merlin stammers, pale cheeks burning until a faintly healthy blush dusts his jagged cheekbones. It’s a thinly veiled excuse, and they both know it. But if Arthur knows Merlin at all, he’ll bet the dark-haired boy won’t back down.

“I insist, I’m full, honestly. It would go to waste otherwise.” Arthur rides from his chair and walks slowly over to where Merlin stands, hands clasped tightly behind his back, nails digging crescents into his palms.

“N-No thank you, I’ve already eaten.”

It isn’t hard to see the obvious distress Merlin’s experiencing, and for a moment, Arthur wishes he’d never asked. But one glance down the boy’s body reminds him that  _ no _ , he has to do  _ something _ , before it’s too late.

“No, you haven’t.” Arthur knows he’s being bold, too bold, but no one else is helping Merlin, and someone has to. That someone being him. He watches, bright eyes flickering curiously as Merlin stiffens, whole body tensing with panic. Arthur’s heart aches as he watches his servant, watching the pain and conflict in his eyes swirl untamed.

“Arthur, please.” Merlin’s voice is broken, quiet, desperate, and it makes Arthur want to scoop the boy into his arms and hold him for eternity. He reaches out for a moment, hand outstretched lamely before he lets it drop, brows creased in thought.

“You may go.”

The relief that washes over Merlin is clear, his shoulders sagging as the tension dissipates. Nodding respectfully, he backs out of the door. Arthur stares after him, hurt that Merlin won’t talk to him; he thought they were friends. But in an odd way, he understands. He understands the fear of speaking it aloud, just as he fears the day he must tell another person of his father’s abuse as a child.

Sinking down into his chair, Arthur knocks back the rest of his wine, and stares into the fire.

* * *

Arthur thinks he has a plan. It could all go horribly wrong, because it involves forcing Merlin to join him for dinner. On principle, it doesn’t sound too tricky, but he knows Merlin will refuse, and Arthur hence knows he’s going to have to command him to sit, as a duty as his servant.

It may not even work; Merlin has grown more strong-willed the longer he’s been in Arthur’s service, daring to partake in teasing and hilarity unlike most servants would. But Merlin isn’t like any other servant in Camelot. He’s different, special.

(Arthur will never admit that to his face, though. Merlin would never forget it, and probably remind him of it everyday, a gleeful smug smile painted across his face.)

He puts the plan into action that evening, sending for two meals from the kitchen instead of one. He also makes the weird request for them to be smaller than usual, not wanting to overwhelm Merlin - it’s probably been some time since the boy last ate.

Merlin brings them up as usual, though he doesn’t hesitate to ask who the second meal is for.

It’s now or never.

“It’s for you. I hoped you’d join me,” Arthur proposes, voice uncharacteristically tentative. Shock sweeps over Merlin’s face, dark eyes sparking with panic as his muscles tighten instinctively.

“I-I’m busy,” he lies, dumping the plates on the table hastily and backing away. Arthur steps towards him, hands outstretched placatingly.

“Please, Merlin. I’m lonely, I want someone to share dinner with.” It’s not entirely a lie. He  _ does  _ want to share dinner with Merlin, and he  _ is  _ rather lonely. He’d just hoped it would be with the mutual knowledge that it was a date.

Arthur knows Merlin will do anything for him, and it’s displayed yet again by the pained obligation that flickers across his face. The boy curls in on himself and moves towards the table, sinking down into the seat shyly.

It’s not ideal, and Arthur hates knowing that he’s  _ forced  _ Merlin into eating with him, but he can’t help but count it as a small victory. Merlin is here, sitting with him. Now is as good a time as any to intervene before it’s too late.

“The food looks lovely,” Merlin comments, cutting his sausages into tiny pieces in an attempt to avoid having to eat them.

Arthur notices, but says nothing. He’ll play the oblivious card for now, hoping to coax it out of his servant kindly and without force. “It does, I hope you don’t mind sitting with me.”

“Of course not.”

The prince watches Merlin push his food around his place and sighs, knowing he’s going to have to try a little harder to get Merlin to admit his eating disorder.

(He only recognises it because Morgana used to have one when she was a teenager. She’d recovered once she’d started connecting with horses, riding as a form of therapy and spending all her time in the stables. Her eating had gotten a lot better over the summer, which Arthur also suspects had a lot to do with her maid at the time, a pretty young woman by the name of Elle. 

Arthur had caught them kissing behind the screen, once. He never mentioned anything, but he was fine with it, of course. Love is love. He firmly believe that one should be shamed for who they love, no matter what his father might say.)

“Why aren’t you eating, Merlin? Is it not good?”

“No, it’s f-fine. I’m just n-not that hungry.”

“Merlin.” Arthur shoots him a pointed look, a look of sad knowing that makes Merlin choke on the water he’d just sipped.

“Arthur, I—” Merlin pauses for a second, conflict plaguing his features before he grabs his fork and stabs a piece of sausage angrily. “I’m fine, okay?”

He shoves the sausage into his mouth, chewing slowly, painfully, before swallowing reluctantly. Arthur watches, as he’s been doing for a year, brows pulled together, haunted by the agony on Merlin’s face.

He did this.

But then he reminds himself that it’s this, or Merlin dies. He’d choose Merlin hating his guts over his servant  _ dying _ . He can’t ever let that happen, he loves Merlin too much for that.

(Yes, he loves him. It’s taken him the best part of the year to admit it to himself, but now it’s done, he clings to the knowledge like a dark secret, unwilling to let it go.)

The room is silent aside from their slow chewing and clinking of cutlery. Merlin won’t even lift his head, slowly pushing his carefully cut food past his lips.

Arthur had thought this would be a victory, but he realises it’s far from it.

* * *

Merlin clears away the plates hurriedly, and leaves without uttering a single word. He seems to walk with a purpose Arthur has only seen while walking into battle, and it’s worrying.

He knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t help himself. Waiting a few seconds for Merlin to get a head start, Arthur leaves his room and begins to follow him, certain that he needs to.

Merlin doesn’t seem to notice he’s there as he drops the plates off in the kitchen and then makes his way quickly down the corridor. It’s only when he descends the flight of stairs down to the servants’ quarters does he realise Merlin is heading for the toilets. Why else would he be down here? He has full facilities in Gaius’ chambers, but this is secret, no one will notice him here. He can easily do… whatever it is he’s going to do, without anyone asking questions.

Sure enough, Merlin darts into the toilets. Arthur follows silently, peeking around the door as his servant drops to his knees in front of a toilet and sticks two fingers down his throat, retching and gagging until he heaves and throws up into the toilet. Arthur watches, horrified, as Merlin continues to throw up into the toilet until he’s left gagging and shaking on the floor.

Unable to stay silent any longer, Arthur rushes into the bathroom and drops down beside him, pulling the trembling body into his arms. “Merlin, why do you do this? Don’t you see that you are beautiful as you are?”

Merlin shakes his head imperceptibly, groaning quietly as his body sags, relaxing into Arthur’s embrace. “I’m ugly and fat,” he murmurs, self-hatred poisoning his voice.

“How could you say that? You are skin and bones, Merlin. You’re dying.” Arthur hates to voice it out loud, but it’s the truth, a truth Merlin needs to hear.

“I would rather die than look this way.”

The words force tears to prick in the corners of Arthur’s eyes, and he tries to blink them away before they can fall. He fails though, because tears roll down his cheeks, dripping onto Merlin’s shirt below him.

“Please Merlin, please don’t speak in that way. I don’t know what I would do if you died. You cannot die,” Arthur insists, desperation seeping into his voice.

“I have no reason to live. I’m sorry, Arthur.” Merlin seems blank, devoid of emotion as he reveals his deepest secrets. It’s painful to watch, but Arthur supposes it’s a way of protecting himself, so he clenches his jaw and fights back the flowing tears.

“Live for me, Merlin,” Arthur begs. He draws in a deep, gasping breath, stomach churning as he prepares to reveal his own secret. “I-I love you.”

“Y-You what?”

“I love you, Merlin. I can’t hide it any longer. I don’t care if you don’t return the feelings, I just— I hope this gives you a reason to live.”

The hesitation flickers across Merlin’s face, and although Arthur thought he was prepared for rejection, it stings. A lot But then—

“I love you too,” Merlin chokes, fingers reaching out hesitantly to grasp Arthur’s shirt, holding onto it with no sign of letting go.

“You do?” Arthur’s shocked. He’d been preparing himself for rejection; he never ever would have thought that Merlin would return his feelings. It’s a moment from his dreams.

“Yes. And I-I’ll try. I’ll try, for you,” Merlin says decidedly, wincing as he shifts slightly. His bones dig holes into Arthur’s limbs as he rests there, clothes hanging limply off his frame.

“I’ll help you, okay?”

Merlin nods thankfully, nestling into Arthur’s chest, eyelids fluttering sleepily. The prince strokes his fingers over Merlin’s hair, soothing him as he leans back against the wall.

He doesn’t know how long they sit there, quiet in each other’s arms, but it feels right - good, even. Somehow, Arthur thinks it’ll all be okay. Not now, but someday.

**Author's Note:**

> i hope y’all enjoyed. kudos & comments are greatly appreciated.


End file.
